


a list of things we said we'd do tomorrow

by everyfragment



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Study, First War with Voldemort, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-First War with Voldemort, aggressively requited pining, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyfragment/pseuds/everyfragment
Summary: “It’s not much, but I think there’s a third option. University.”Remus leaves the wizarding world at 18. It changes everything.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 92
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is it weird to be writing Harry Potter fic in 2020 as a queer non-binary person of colour? You bet! On the other hand, I've wanted to write this fic (one where Remus gets choices and a happy ending and the world doesn't go to shit) for several years now, and when better to do that when *waves at everything* all this is happening?
> 
> Beta'd and egged on, as ever, by [anamuan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamuan/pseuds/anamuan).

Remus likes to say he was one of the first casualties of the war. Of course, this thought only ever pops up when there’s no one around to hear him say it, which just serves to tickle him further. Take this moment, for example (and good god, it’s three weeks into term and he’s _already_ talking like Professor Knight): he’s surrounded by marking and every other history graduate at Christ Church while the sun actually shines outside, thinking about a war that took everything from him, including anyone he could speak about it with.

Here in the halls of a hallowed institution he only just learned to respect, Remus is acutely aware that everyone around him has reluctantly packed away the remnants of their ( _our_ , Remus mentally corrects) empire and the only wars they’re thinking about are far away and fodder for academic theses.

Because Remus is an excellent historian, he jots down the thought in the margins of his notebook. It’ll either make for a great throwaway line in a paper, or at this week’s pub night. 

He’s halfway through marking down an essay for too many adjectives and not enough critical reasoning when a shadow looms over him. 

“No,” Remus says without looking up, with 90% certainty that this is the correct response. 

“Oh come on, Remus, old boy.” The 90% certainty immediately increases to 100%. “It’s a gorgeous day and there are freshers roaming around the city, just waiting for an avuncular figure to show them the ropes.” Remus doesn’t need to look up to know that an eyebrow waggle accompanied that statement.

“I’ve had enough of the freshers right here,” Remus says dryly, tapping his neverending stack of papers. 

Percy Hadleigh ( _the fourth_ , Remus tacks on because he can never help himself) tuts at him and leans closer.

“A little jaunt in the company of yours truly can only help.”

Hadleigh is from Sussex, and seems to believe that being gay and rich is a sufficient substitute for a personality. Remus looks up at him and can’t help but grin back. 

“A little jaunt in your company will invariably end up in a longer jaunt at the pub with every single new best friend you pick up, and then I’ll just end up sozzled and in pain and I just don’t think that’s very avuncular at all.”

Hadleigh’s grin just widens. 

“I already got Smythe and Roberts to say yes. Evans says he’ll come if you do.”

Remus sighs loudly and dramatically. The twinge when he hears Evans’ name is barely there anymore.

“I can see when I’m outnumbered. I’ll meet you at The Turf in an hour, shall I?”

“There’s a good lad.”

Remus rolls his eyes at Hadleigh and goes back to his marking. He can probably get through another three essays before he gives up for the day. 

**

Here’s how this started ( _here’s how it all ended_ , Remus thinks): they were lazing out by the lake; James and Sirius trying to tease the Giant Squid into doing something, Peter lying on his front as far from the splash radius as possible and trying to get Remus to do a dramatic reading of the book he had in his hands. They were a month away from their final exams beginning and while no one was saying anything, everyone could feel the excitement of _what came next_ thrumming in the air. 

Sirius and James had been prancing around, pleased that Moody had already reached out to them about Auror training—the first of their cohort. Lily had been promised to St. Mungo's as a mediwitch for months now. Peter already had a Ministry position lined up but was considering his options carefully because Potter Senior thought he was a smart boy who could do well in broomstick design and had _just_ the position available on his team. 

Remus, meanwhile, was trying to smile while drowning. The fact of the matter was (and he was foolish to have ever let himself forget it) no one in the wizarding world was going to accept a werewolf on their staff. No one in the wizarding world was going to lease him a flat (Sirius had already scoffed at this and told him they were moving in together, but Remus wasn’t sure how long that would last when he could barely make rent), and no one was going to see him as an ally in the war Sirius and James and Peter were going to fight. 

Remus flipped another page and leaned out of Peter’s way as he flailed at Remus and whined at him to please do something entertaining. 

The Giant Squid threw something slimy in their direction and Remus joined in the laughter before abruptly stopping when he saw McGonagall walking towards them. 

“Gentlemen,” she said, and both Sirius and James preened at her. She ignored them. “Mr. Lupin, a word, please.”

He exchanged glances with the others and then followed her back into the castle, on an incredibly familiar route and then—just before they reached the gargoyle—McGonagall stopped and turned right. Remus walked into the classroom behind her, more than slightly perplexed.

There was a teapot brewing and two mugs set out. Remus sat down and wrapped his fingers around the one in front of him, gratefully.

McGonagall sat across from him and cleared her throat. 

"It's not looking very good, is it, Remus?"

"No, Professor," Remus said, not even trying to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about.

"Professor Flitwick believes you should be given an apprenticeship position at the school. He thinks your work on Defense has been exceptional, and we could use someone who stays on the staff for longer than a year."

Remus blinked at her. That sounded rather good, actually.

"I'm against it."

Remus slumped down again.

"You'd be wasted in the position and would hardly have room to keep growing. I would be honoured to have you return to Hogwarts as a professor one day, but I don't want your life to remain confined to a single place and a single experience."

"Oh."

McGonagall looked away from him.

“I was taking you to see Dumbledore, in fact. He has a potential option for you.”

Remus blinked, trying very hard not to feel any excitement at all.

“He wants you to join the Order, Remus.”

Remus’ heart picked up its pace.

“It—he wants you to join the werewolves, Remus. He wants you to spy on Voldemort’s forces. For the Order.”

Remus’ heart beat so fast, he wanted to clutch his chest to calm it down.

“I—”

“I’ve told him that’d be over my dead body. You’re a child, and a child who’s already had to suffer enough. I don’t care what the cause is, I’m not endangering your life any further.”

Remus frowned at her.

“Professor, I feel like you’re working up to something here.”

McGonagall sighed and picked up her tea.

“It’s not much, but I think there’s a third option. University.”

Remus’ heart was confused enough at this point that it gave up on reacting to everything he was hearing and resumed beating at the rhythm it was used to.

“What?”

“Muggle university, Mr. Lupin. I believe you’re familiar enough with the concept. Your grandfather taught at one, I believe?”

“Yes, he did. But Professor, how—“

“Dumbledore will make the arrangements.”

“Does he know he’ll make the arrangements?”

“No. But he will.”

Remus smiled weakly. 

“I don’t want to leave my world behind, Professor.”

“And it doesn’t want to lose you, Mr. Lupin,” she responded, crisply. “But there’s a war on and I refuse to let children become soldiers. If I can protect any of you, I will.”

“The Muggles—I can’t endanger them. And the Ministry would have to approve my living in a city and evaluate the risks and—”

“They would indeed, Mr. Lupin, if they were informed of the plan.”

“Oh.”

McGonagall’s face softened. 

“Remus, it’s an option. I understand if you want to stay and—and join the fight, but I believe you deserve to live a better life than the one the Ministry and the Wizarding world are forcing you towards.”

Remus didn’t say anything and McGonagall sighed.

“Your friends don’t understand how easy their lives are,” she said, gently. “They are welcomed into the Wizarding world with open arms and they will be lauded no matter how they contribute to the battle. You, on the other hand, can only hope to do whatever Dumbledore believes you’ll be of most use doing, receive no recognition for it, and find condemnation regardless of how brave your actions are. And I am very serious when I say that there had better be no breaths left in my lungs the day that you go anywhere near Fenrir Greyback again.”

Remus almost flinched at the name. Almost.

“How would it escape the Ministry’s notice that I’m not living in the Wizarding world anymore?”

“Their attention is spread rather thin these days, but I would recommend we invent an appropriate cover story that Dumbledore touts anytime anyone asks—perhaps he can have you playing a spy within Muggle society—and that you maintain minimal contact with anyone who may give anything away.”

They didn’t have to say anything about the Marauders. They were both thinking the same thing. 

“They’ll ask questions,” Remus said, finally.

“I’m sure they will. We can work out what to say to them. They won’t cross Dumbledore.”

“Will Dumbledore be okay with this? I—I can see why he would want someone with the werewolves. They—Fenrir—is growing in strength.”

“He’ll have to be. I have a plan to mollify him, anyway.”

Remus slumped lower in the chair and smiled weakly. 

“Thank you, I guess.”

McGonagall smiled at him over her glasses. 

“My pleasure, Mr. Lupin. I’m glad you’ve decided to be practical about this. Shall we go visit the Headmaster?”

Remus nodded and followed her out the room, past the gargoyle, and up the stairs into Dumbledore’s office.

“Ah, Remus! Minerva. Please do come in and sit down.”

Remus sat.

“As you surely know, the wizarding world is standing on the brink of destruction.” ( _An excellent opening gambit_ , Remus thinks years later, _very dramatic and atmospheric. Could use a flash of lightning behind him_.) “We need all the help we can get to push back the forces of darkness.”

“You are,” Dumbledore cleared his throat slightly here, “uniquely positioned for a role we need to fill. Information gathering is where we’re running into trouble here, Remus, and there is need for someone in the field, as it were.”

Remus suddenly felt a wash of gratitude for McGonagall. Even with her warning ( _even with her protection_ , Remus thinks later) all he could see while Dumbledore spoke was years of loneliness and blood and no escape from the eyes of the cruellest man he’s ever known. 

“We also need someone in the muggle world,” McGonagall cut in. “Professor Dumbledore has some contacts in London who give us information, but we need so much more than we can even begin to imagine.”

Remus turned to look at her but her eyes were fixed on Dumbledore’s.

“If you were to gather information from Greyback and his colleagues--” Remus snorted at this because he couldn’t help himself. “--you would still stay in the wizarding world. You could live with your friends, albeit while making frequent trips, and look for a wizarding career.”

“Sir, we all know that I have no chance of a wizarding career. Not while I have to register as a werewolf and my records are available to any potential employer.”

“I could put in a word--”

“And what would I even tell the others? That I’m off spying? Last I checked, spies aren’t supposed to be forthcoming with what exactly it is they’re doing.” 

Dumbledore sighed, and Remus bit his tongue to stop while he was still ahead. 

“If you were to enter the muggle world, you would not be allowed any contact with your friends whatsoever,” Dumbledore said, finally. “The choice here is for a different life, one without the option to return. Not while there is a war on and the position of the werewolves is clear.” 

“What information do you need from the muggle world?”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and Remus tried not to notice the flash of disappointment on his face. 

“I have a sister,” McGonagall said, suddenly. “She has spent most of her life trying to reconcile magical and non-magical research. She teaches at UCL and she is very eager for some assistance. You will sit your A Levels, Mr. Lupin, and then be enrolled as a student at university. You can choose the courses you want to take and she will pay you a research assistant’s salary. Vesta’s research is not guided by Dumbledore or the Ministry, but we would appreciate it if at least some of yours was. There is plenty that we need to know to be able to fight this war.”

“It will not be easy,” Dumbledore said.

“How would I—” Remus stopped. “I’m a werewolf. How would I keep the muggles from getting hurt?”

“There is a very experimental potion that may be of help,” Dumbledore said. “It has not been tested widely, but it allows you to keep your wits about you during transformation. We still don’t know the side-effe—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Very well, Mr. Lupin. Minerva will work with you to prepare for this transition.” Dumbledore hesitated for a moment. “You may use my office for your studies to make sure you have peace and quiet. I believe the muggle A Levels are quite challenging.”

“Thank you, professors,” Remus said, standing up.

“Come with me, Mr. Lupin,” McGonagall said, already walking towards the stairs. “We had better start discussing your new schedule.”

**

Hadleigh walks him home after the pub because he always does. Remus isn’t blind to what that means, but he’s also not sure he wants to do anything about it. What’s different about tonight is Evans on Hadleigh’s other side, trying to cajole them both into not ending the night here. 

“Come on, Lupin. You know you’ll love a night of dancing once you’re actually there.” Evans has a wheedling tone to his voice and it jars Remus every time he hears it. 

“Not a chance. Unlike you reprobates, there’s a pile of unfinished marking with my name on it beside my bed and trying to read essays drunk is about as much excitement as I can take tonight.”

“It’ll just be a few hours,” Evans tries again. 

“Let’s leave him to his devices, Evans!” Hadleigh’s tone cuts sharper than Remus thinks he intends it to. Evans had a girlfriend last term and spent most of tonight trying to chat up some of the girls at the next table from them. Remus doesn’t think he’s very perceptive about the men he’s befriended, and he’s not sure Evans needs to find out. Hadleigh, meanwhile, is convinced Evans is just going through a phase and needs a gentle push in the right direction.

“We’ll go ourselves and we’ll have a night of it,” Hadleigh says, letting go of Remus to swing his arm around Evans. “Lupin can just continue to live vicariously through us.”

Remus laughs and gives Hadleigh’s neck an affectionate warning squeeze. 

“I’ll see you chaps tomorrow,” he says and waves at them as they walk towards town. 

It’s just gone 11 when he finally sits down with his tea and marking. He doesn’t finish until 2, when the drink has completely worn off, and the tea tastes miserable even with the heating charms. 

Remus takes the tea over to the kitchen window anyway and breathes in the night air as he sips. Someone shouts something further down the street and then a pack of freshers ( _the only appropriate collective noun_ , Remus thinks) runs past the building. He leaves the window open when he finally goes to bed and lets the screams and laughter lull him to sleep.

**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Here’s the thing about Remus Lupin, DPhil candidate in History at Christ Church College, Oxford: he did not think he would be okay until he suddenly was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your lovely comments!

Here’s the thing about Remus Lupin, DPhil candidate in History at Christ Church College, Oxford: he did not think he would be okay until he suddenly was. 

He wakes up at 6 AM most weekdays--a time that he’d sworn was unholy for most of his teenage years—and today is no exception. It’s still dark when he tugs at the curtains and he stumbles into the kitchen for a cup of coffee that will help him make his way to his office (and a far better brew) at the very least. 

By the time he makes it into the office it’s just gone 7, but he’s still the first person in. He gets his second cup of coffee and sits down with the mail he picked up on his way. The highlight is a lengthy missive from his parents detailing their most recent forays into gardening, the four students that Lyall’s been tutoring in English, and the books that Hope has found in her many jaunts around the southern French coast. The letter ends too soon and Remus finds himself smiling at the last line:

_We miss you, my darling. Next time you visit, we can drive to Marseille and visit some of the shops we found! The city would be a good resource for your thesis, as well, and this way I could feed you instead of worrying every evening about how you’re getting on._

_Love,  
Mum. _

“Lupin, you’d better put that smile away before your seminar today. You know they can smell weakness.”

Remus looks up just as Shabnam slides into her chair, tea in one hand and impossibly large bag in the other.

“I’m not sure that’s even remotely true, Akhtar, because you smile at them every day and they’re all _terrified_ of you.”

“That’s because I smile like a shark, see?” She demonstrates, and Remus laughs. 

“I don’t think I have the canines for it, unfortunately” he says, and ignores the ( _painfully familiar_ ) knowing chortle his brain fills in after. 

They work in silence after that, Remus trying to plough ahead with his research and Shabnam flipping through a pile of journal articles that have been building on her desk since last term. 

By lunchtime, he’s managed to piece together enough of a chapter outline that he’ll be able to meet Professor Knight’s eye without having a minor panic attack. 

“I’m headed back to St. Antony’s for lunch,” Shabnam says at half twelve, like she does every day. Shabnam is convinced—based on two very minor incidents in his first year at Oxford—that Remus is utterly incapable of feeding himself. “You’re either coming with me or you’re taking a break to get your own meal.”

“I think that’s why everyone is terrified of you, actually: concern has rarely looked this threatening before. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll head over to Brown’s. I could use the walk.”

“If my spies report you collapsing on the streets from malnutrition, we’ll have _words_ , Lupin.”

“I would never!” Remus faux gasps, and follows her out the door before they head in opposite directions.

There’s still a chill in the air when Remus leaves the building. He pulls his cardigan tighter around his neck as he walks, and wonders if he can duck into an alley to cast a warming charm on himself. He’s just started looking around when he hears his name being called. 

“Lupin! Wait for me!” Evans is almost out of breath by the time he catches up with Remus and Remus can’t help but smile at his red face. 

“I’m only going over to Brown’s.”

“Yes, I know!” Remus picks up his pace again, and Evans follows. “It was on my way over to Bodleian and I thought I’d walk with you! We missed you last night, you know. No one around to keep Hadleigh from trying to chat everyone up.”

Remus snorts. “I’m sure you rose to the occasion, Evans.” 

“You know very well I did my best to lose him as soon as we got there. I failed spectacularly, of course, and we left a few hours after we got there.”

“I assume when you say you left, you mean you both left alone?”

“Unfortunately. Oh, here, let me pay for that!” Evans shuffles to the front of the shop and pays for both pasties before Remus can blink. 

“Thanks, Evans.”

Evans grins at him and takes an ill-advised bite. 

“Oh shit, fuck—why is it so hot?!”

“They make them fresh.”

“You knew that was going to happen, Lupin! You could have warned me!”

Remus laughs at Evans and waves at Cora behind the counter as they walk out, Evans still softly swearing under his breath. 

“There’s a corner shop further down this street if you need something to soothe your tongue.”

Evans rolls his eyes, flips him off, and walks in the direction of the library. Remus laughs again and, on a whim, decides he’s tired enough ( _three days till the moon_ ) that he could use an afternoon nap. The potion has come leaps and bounds since he first started taking it ( _and he tries not to think about those first few months any more than he has to_ ), but he still gets tired enough that even the undergraduates notice. Still, there are fewer scars now, and his limbs don’t creak as much the day after, and he can walk out of his room every morning without the support of anyone else ( _there’s no one there to help him anyway_ , Remus doesn’t think). 

Remus lets himself into his flat and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. He stands in front of the bulletin board next to the sink the way he’s done every day for the last six months and touches the edges of the letter pinned right at the centre. 

_Remus._

_It’s over._

_— Minerva._

He puts down his glass in the sink and walks to the bedroom to sleep.

**

The letters came every month but Remus never managed to predict exactly when he’d receive one. In his first year, Remus had read them again and again, trying to eke out any news of his friends, of his world, of absolutely anything at all from McGonagall’s crisp hand. She never once slipped up, and Remus found himself responding similarly—letters that were short and detailed his progress at university and any side-effects he’d noticed from the potion, with fat parchments attached that covered the research that Dumbledore or McGonagall were requesting of him. Somewhere in the middle of the summer before his second year, when Vesta had somehow gotten him a second job that involved 30 hours or so at a bookshop on Judd Street, McGonagall included her first postscript:

_P.S.: Lily and James are engaged. Sirius appears to be taking it rather well. Peter is obviously ecstatic._

Remus had traced the letters of the postscript for what felt like hours before writing a longer letter than he’d ever done before. He told McGonagall about the job, about the books he read when there were no customers around, about the fact that he could finally get up the morning after the full moon and go back to work without worrying about getting fired. 

He left his own postscript: 

_P.S.: I can’t believe Lily said yes, after all that. Is everyone sure this isn’t an elaborate prank she’s playing on James?_

He didn’t say anything about Sirius. He didn’t think he could.

The letters became easier to read and write after that. McGonagall didn’t always include too much news, but there was enough there (and in the _Sunday Prophet_ that Vesta deigned to have delivered) that Remus could at least keep up. 

“It’s good for you to keep one toe in the pond you came from, Remus,” Vesta had said one afternoon. Remus had nodded absently at her, but spent hours after wondering what that could possibly mean for his future. He told himself daily that the wizarding world had moved on without him and he had moved on without them. The toe that he was trying to keep in the pond ( _less a toe than his entire body treading water_ , Remus thinks later) was surely out of nostalgia rather than any remaining connection to the world.

In his third year at UCL, the postscripts became longer and the requests for information and research in the letters became more specific. 

Remus had always been good at reading between the lines and now the letters were screaming at him in their urgency. He didn’t sleep much that year, or the next, or the one after that, and instead floated through writing his BA thesis, somehow wrangled an offer from Oxford and didn’t fail out while running experiment after experiment through the nights, hoping against hope that his research could make some difference to whether his friends made it out of the war alive. 

He never read the letters more than once in those years: the spaces between the lines now spoke of horrors that even he couldn’t imagine. The postscripts, meanwhile, often held nothing but a death count and Remus read those before he read anything else, waiting for the most familiar ( _the most beloved_ ) names to appear. 

The only exception was a letter that came the day he moved into his flat in Oxford. 

_Remus —_

_Lily has given birth to a son. They’ve named him Harry. Sirius has been named godfather. I believe Peter is named guardian if anything happens to him. James hasn’t stopped crying since Harry was born._

_— Minerva_

_P.S.: He has green eyes like Lily, but his face is exactly like James’. We can only hope that that’s where the resemblance ends._

Remus sat his exams at the end of his second year at Oxford in a daze, convinced he wouldn’t make it through and neither would the world he knew. Somehow ( _as if by some kind of magic_ , Remus laughs later) he was proven wrong. 

The first letter came before his final exam. The second one, immediately after:

_Remus —_

_It’s over. He’s dead. We’re working to round his followers up as we speak. There’s work to be done that cannot wait and there are so many of your classmates ready to take that work on. I’m so proud of you all and grateful to call myself one of your teachers._

_Remus, you have built a life for yourself these past few years and I want you to remember that you don’t owe the wizarding world anything. You definitely do not owe it your return. The werewolf registry is still in effect, and so are the laws about movement and rights. The life you’ll be returning to is exactly the same one you chose to leave. There are plans to fight to change that and I’ll keep you abreast of what happens, but they’re all just plans so far._

_I want you to know that I am so incredibly proud of you and everything you have helped us accomplish. Vesta has also made it clear to me over the past few years that you’re flourishing at Oxford and that you would make an admirable professor, be it at Hogwarts or at Oxford (or at UCL. I believe she wants to poach you.)._

_Dumbledore will write to you sooner rather than later. Do not rush to respond._

_All my very best,  
— Minerva_

_P.S.: Remember to celebrate. You deserve it._

Remus had sat down on the floor of his flat and wept. 

When Dumbledore’s letter arrived to congratulate him on his war efforts and offer him a research position working with dark creatures, he wrote back and asked for time to finish his degree first.

**

Remus wakes up just in time to grab a slice of toast from his kitchen and rush back for his afternoon seminar. His students this afternoon are third years, more serious about their work even if they are still disinclined to do any reading this early in the term. Remus can’t exactly begrudge them their reluctance, though, because they ask good questions and let him get through the entire seminar in the allotted time. He dismisses them and starts collecting his papers. If he’s lucky, he can grab a cup of tea before he needs to walk over to his final tutorial of the day.

“Uh, Remus?” And there goes that hope, Remus thinks before pasting a smile on his face. 

“Yes, Emma?”

“I know you’re not supervising theses yet, but I’m thinking about writing something on colonialism and disability and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind looking over the outline? Professor Knight says it’s a good topic and that he’d be happy to supervise, but he suggested I may want to look somewhere else for assistance with sources?”

Remus’ smile turns into a far more genuine grin. 

“Did Professor Knight use the words ‘may want to look somewhere else’, or did he mention my name and shoo you out of his office?”

“Uh. The latter,” Emma blushes. 

“Well, I’m more than happy to look it over. Bring the outline and your list of sources to my office hours next week, and we can talk about next steps.”

“Thanks so much!”

Remus waits for her to leave before he lets himself indulge in rolling his eyes at how predictable his own supervisor can be. By the time he makes it down the hallway to his tutorial with his cup of tea, he’s running a few minutes late and has to wait behind his students to walk in. He’s pretty sure that’s why he forgets to close the door. 

The tutorial is always one of the highlights of his week—lively and with students he doesn’t want to admit are his favourites. They’re covering the untold stories from various wars of independence, and Remus always likes to do readings of the primary sources he’s collected in the course of his studies. He’s halfway through a particularly sarcastic letter from one woman revolutionary to another, much to the delight of the room, when a shadow crosses the door to the room and he falters mid-sentence. 

Sirius Black—his face paler than Remus has ever seen it, hair still too long but not long enough to hide the earrings in one ear, leather jacket and Doc Martens standing out like a sore thumb in halls that Remus associates with tweed and a loneliness he doesn’t think he’ll ever shake again—is stood in the doorway of his classroom. 

Here’s the thing about Remus Lupin, one of the most beloved history tutors at Oxford University: he doesn’t realise he isn’t fine until he suddenly is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I thought you were dead,” Sirius says, and Remus decides not to hear the hitch in his voice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 all of you are wonderful, and your comments are the BEST! 
> 
> (special shoutout to [anamuan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamuan/pseuds/anamuan) for the beta + letting me ramble at her for hours about this fic.)

Remus isn’t sure where he finds the reserves to properly dismiss the tutorial, but he does somehow. 

“I’m so sorry to cut this short, everyone,” he says after he manages to drag his eyes away from Sirius’. “We’ll pick back up where we left off next week. Please remember that we’re almost to reading week and that means _actually doing the reading_. I won’t insult any of you by suggesting you get a head start on any of your essays, but if you find yourself bored and looking for something to do, you know when my office hours are. Thank you.”

He’s sure the students are all eyeing Sirius as they walk out, but Remus is too busy trying to hide the tremor in his hands while gathering his papers together to pay any attention to them. He manages to get everything in some semblance of order and stuff them into his bag before he finally takes a deep breath and plasters his most benign smile on his face. 

He looks up and catches Sirius’ eye. 

“Tea?”

He’s not expecting the bark of laughter that greets that. 

“Well,” Sirius says and Remus tightens his hold on his bag at the sound of Sirius’ voice. “At least I know I’m not hallucinating.”

Remus leads the way out of the room and down the hallway and out of the building. Sirius doesn’t say anything and Remus isn’t sure he remembers how to start conversations anymore. They walk out into the early evening and Remus automatically turns down the road towards his flat. He’s not sure he can do this in public.

They’re almost there when Sirius clears his throat. 

“I thought you were dead,” he says, and Remus decides not to hear the hitch in his voice. 

“Ah, I can understand how you might have gotten that impression. As you can see however, rumours, greatly exaggerated, and so forth.” Remus waves at his own person like that will somehow help.

“Remus--” 

“I’m this way. It’s a bit of a walk up, if that’s okay. Third floor flat: the one good thing to come from teaching, if you ask me. They say it’s about educating young minds, but that assumes the young minds want to be educated, and quite frankly, I’m beginning to despair.” 

Remus knows he’s babbling ( _channeling his inner Hadleigh_ , he thinks, only slightly hysterically), but he also knows that babbling means Sirius doesn’t get a chance to speak and right now, that’s something he has to cling to even though he refuses to let himself think too hard about why that might be the case. He jogs up the stairs, Sirius a step behind him, and manages to throw in a flourish when he finally gets the door open. 

“It’s humble, but it’s home for now. Can I take your jacket?”

Sirius hands it over wordlessly, and Remus hangs it up beside his winter coat and the blazer that Roberts had given him at the end of first year ( _he couldn’t let the undergrads see him without a blazer, after all. They might have mistaken him for another student_ ). 

“Come into the kitchen, and please do forgive the mess. Do you still take your tea black?”

“Yes. No—I take a bit of milk, now. Just a splash.”

And maybe Sirius is as lost as he is here and trying his best to find his feet on a ground that hasn’t stopped trying to buck them off. Remus puts the kettle on and, with his final reserves of strength, turns around to look at Sirius. 

Sirius is slowly taking in the kitchen, eyes lingering on the small green fridge ( _which clashes horribly with the yellow backsplash_ , Remus thinks for what feels like the thousandth time), on the bulletin board that has no pictures but a dozen reminders and a single scrap of parchment right in the middle, on the plastic tablecloth that had seen better days even before Remus bought it from the charity shop down the road. At everything but Remus himself. 

The kettle whistles, startling them both, and Remus brings the two cups over to the table once he’s done fussing over them.

“Remus. I _thought you were dead_.”

Remus thinks back to months ( _months, not years_ ) spent alone even while surrounded by hundreds of thousands of other students, trying his best to both blend in and keep everyone an arm’s length away, and then shakes himself out of it. 

“Well, I’m not. How’s the tea?”

Sirius stares at him for a long moment before he takes a sip. 

“It’s fine.”

They both lapse into silence for another beat when Sirius breaks it again. 

“Moony, _please_.”

**

The day that Sirius first told Remus that he was in love with him was rainy, and Remus was on week three of refusing to leave the library for dinner as part of his campaign to force the rest of the Marauders to actually study for their OWLs.

Peter had broken in the first two days and started sneaking meals in for Remus and himself. Remus had rewarded him with study guides and a smile while utterly ignoring Sirius and James any time they tried to make conversation. 

It was a different silence than the one that had echoed through the Gryffindor dormitory three months ago when he had nearly killed Snape and Sirius had woken him up the next morning in tears. That silence had stretched out thin and fragile, with James and Peter trying their best to bridge it. Remus had finally caved after a month of Sirius sleeping in the common room, after a month of silently cursing himself for letting anyone get too close, and after a long talk about secrets and trust and about what it meant to be a Marauder. 

He only felt slightly guilty for employing the same tactic this soon after, but—as he told Peter at the start of week two—it was for a good cause. Besides, neither James nor Sirius seemed particularly affected this time. 

“OK, I think I’m done with the Runes essay,” Peter whispered just after Remus stuffed another sandwich into his mouth.

“Mph.”

“No, you were right yesterday. Transfiguration should be next.”

“Mph mph.”

“Well, fine. But I really think we need to do _some_ transfiguration tonight.”

“Mph.”

“Fine, I suppose I can wait till then.”

Remus waved at the Charms book he wanted them to open next and Peter handed it over. They managed to go through six problems before Peter began clearing his throat very loudly and Remus decided he could either call it a night or let Madam Pince do it for them.

Peter left him on the seventh floor to get a second dinner and maybe meet up with Mary MacDonald while he was there, and Remus trudged up the stairs, down the corridor, and into the Gryffindor tower by himself. The common room was almost empty, but James was sitting with Marlene poring over Quidditch strategies. They were intent enough in their discussion that Remus had to knock over a chair to get James’ attention so he could ignore him more effectively. 

Remus pointedly waved at Marlene, ignored James’ grin and headed up the stairs to their dormitory, idly thinking about reading in bed until he fell asleep. 

This, of course, assumed his bed wasn’t covered completely in books and someone else’s essays. Remus blinked for a few seconds and wondered if he could transfigure the papers into icicles and shoot them at Sirius. He opted for civility instead and levitated them all off his bed and made them hover over the bin in the corner of the room.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do it, Black.”

Sirius popped his ridiculous head out of the curtains he’d drawn around his bed and grinned at Remus.

“They were a peace offering! A détente! A white flag tied to a very large stick!”

“You thought keeping me from sleeping was a _peace offering_?”

“Hm, I’ll admit I may not have thought this one through.”

Remus let the papers drop another inch.

“Okay, okay!” Sirius clambered out from his bed and over to where Remus was standing. “I wanted to show you that I had done some work so you’d actually talk to me.”

“A likely story,” Remus had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. “How do I even know this is your work?”

“I swear it on the map! Besides, you always keep telling me my handwriting is impossible to fake.”

“The essays _were_ illegible, I suppose.”

“Y’see?”

Remus stopped trying to hide his grin, moved his wand slightly, and let the books and parchment fall to the floor right next to the bin. 

“Fine. What can I help you with?”

“Well—” Sirius sat on Remus’ bed and then stood up again. “Well, I have a small problem.” 

He sat down again and this time Remus sat with him. Sirius rubbed his hands on his thighs and Remus idly wondered if he should reach out and try to hold Sirius’ hands or if that would make things worse. 

“Did something happen, Sirius?”

“What? No. No shut up and let me talk.”

“Okay, but you’re scaring me a bit here.”

“Oh excellent, because I’m terrified. I love it when we match.”

“Sirius.”

“Yes. Okay. I’m getting to it.” He stopped again and Remus considered setting something on fire to make him feel better. “Okay. Hm. Do you remember last year when you told me you’d always support me? And then earlier this year—” Sirius swallowed and Remus automatically reached out to grab his hands and squeeze them. “—when you said you didn’t know how to hate me?”

“Sirius, what did you do?”

“And then we talked about how nothing can really ruin our friendship if I hadn’t somehow managed to fuck things up with what I did to you?”

“Padfoot, _please_ —” 

“Moony, I’m really, really, really gone for you.”

“What.”

Remus’ ears were ringing and he was acutely aware of the fact that Sirius was staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. He assumed his face looked exactly the same. 

“What?” He tried again.

“I’m in love with you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But _why?_ ”

“What do you mean why?” and Remus became vaguely aware of the fact that Sirius had turned his palms up and that Remus had laced their fingers together. Sirius grinned weakly, first at Remus and then at the hands in his lap. “I won’t stand for your usual self-deprecating nonsense here, Lupin—” 

“Padfoot, don’t be an arse. _Why_ are you in love with me? Are you sure you’re in love with me? Did you eat something funny for dinner?”

“Moony--”

“Is this a guilt thing? I told you I forgave you—”

“Remus! It’s not a guilt thing. It’s a _you_ thing! I don’t—listen, I’ve had feelings for you since last summer and I thought it was just a passing thing and I didn’t say anything, but then we came back and you just—you kept _being you_ and I feel utterly lost all the time but never when I’m with you and it’s a good thing I’m always with you, I guess, and it’s the absolute worst feeling in the world but also the best feeling in the world and can I kiss you?”

“What?”

And then, because Sirius seemed to take the fact that Remus was clinging to him as some sort of sign that Remus wasn’t in fact completely losing his mind ( _he always was an optimist,_ Remus thinks on the nights he lets himself think about the past), he leaned forward slowly and Remus wasn’t really sure when he moved, but suddenly he was sat on his bed on a rainy Tuesday evening, lips pressed against those of a trembling Sirius Black, feeling utterly invincible. 

“Remus—”

“Shh, do that again.” 

Sirius blinked and opened his mouth to say something else completely unnecessary, at which point Remus yanked him forward again and stopped all conversation for a while.

**

“Sirius—”

It’s the first time Remus has said that name aloud in six years, and the syllables sit heavily on his tongue, accusing and beloved at the same time. 

He wills his voice not to crack and tries again. “Sirius. How have you been?”

Sirius laughs humourlessly again, and Remus tightens his hold around his tea cup. 

“Oh, you know. Can’t complain. Fought in a war and our side seems to have won. Thought the love of my life was dead, and then ran into him on an errand. He seems fine. Offered me a cup of tea.”

“Sirius.”

“No, Remus. We’re not doing this. I can’t believe you never wrote me. Do you have any idea—”

"Do _you_ have any idea? I was pretty fucking clear when I left that it was the only option I had in front of me. I didn't just decide I'd had enough of my best friends and the man I loved on a _whim_."

"You could have still said something! We could have done something! I-- I wasn't okay for a long time after, you know."

**

The last time Remus heard Sirius say he loved him, they were ( _very, very illegally_ ) on the parapets of the Gryffindor tower, kicking their heels against the stone and chatting idly about the exams they’d just finished.

“I think we all did fine,” Peter said, more to himself than anyone else. 

“I think we did more than fine,” James responded, clapping Peter on the back while trying to shove Sirius off the tower at the same time. 

“Forget how we did, men!” Sirius announced, putting James’ head into a headlock. “That is the past and we are not backwards looking fools! Nay, we are forward looking-- er.”

“Fiends?” Remus offered, Sirius had taken to Shakespeare over the course of the last year, but with minimal mastery. 

“Fiends! We are forward looking fiends! We have our lives ahead of us and we won’t be held back by the nightmares of a single botched potion--”

“It made Slughorn turn purple, Black.”

“Shut up, Potter, did you not hear me say we were moving past that?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Moving past that and towards our futures! London! Jobs! Punk rock! Money!”

“Little known lyrics from the _Janie Jones_ b-side,” Peter whispered to Remus, which earned him a glare from Sirius.

“Our future awaits, you traitorous—hm.”

“Knaves,” Remus decided.

“Aha! You traitorous knaves! It awaits and it’s going to be spiffy!”

Both Peter and James beamed at this and Remus felt his stomach turn again. They were fast approaching the end of the year and he hadn’t mentioned the fact that he may not in fact be involved in the future they were all looking forward to. 

An hour or so later, when James and Peter had both wandered off to find their girlfriends in the celebrations below, Sirius reached for Remus and Remus hid his face in the crook of Sirius’ shoulder.

“It’ll be ok, you know.”

“I thought your word of choice was spiffy?”

“Don’t be daft, Moony. I can see you worrying more and more with every passing day.”

Remus’ stomach did another somersault, and he wondered how much of it was guilt and how much was the overwhelming rush of affection he felt every time Sirius was present ( _and often when he wasn’t_ ).

“I’m ok,” Remus lied, and Sirius squeezed his shoulders like he knew. 

“Whatever happens, I love you.”

Remus kissed Sirius’ collarbone and thought about nothing but the night gently enveloping them.

**

Remus isn’t sure when he shut his eyes, but he forces them open now.

“I didn’t want to ruin things for you when you had everything ahead of you,” Remus finally says. “I didn’t know anything about my future. I didn’t.” He stops and takes a breath. “I was scared and I didn’t know—I don’t know—if I can ever come back to the wizarding world.”

Sirius jerks forward as if he’s going to grab Remus’ hands. Remus feels the phantom ache of them even as Sirius sits back again. 

“I understand,” Sirius says, finally. “Well, I don’t. But I do.”

And then. “I missed you, Moony.”

“I missed you, too, Padfoot.”

It’s almost twilight. Remus clears his throat. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I trust you,” Sirius says, and there goes the last of his defenses.  
> _

He takes Sirius to his favourite restaurant. It’s a small Indian takeaway ( _Bangladeshi_ , Shabnam’s voice corrects in his head) that reminds him of summers visiting the Potters and all four of them sneaking out into the nearby town for a meal. He doesn’t tell Sirius any of this as he holds the door open and they’re waved in the direction of a table near the back.

“So what’s good here?”

“Absolutely everything, but I’m getting the chicken tikka masala,” and then, because Remus isn’t thinking any further than Sirius’ eyes and his smile and the fact that he even _smells_ the same, he adds: “You’ll love the balti here, especially with their Peshwari naan.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything as Remus immediately bites his lip, just smiles at him like Remus hung the moon ( _and can he start cracking these jokes out loud now again, now that Sirius is in front of him?_ ). 

“I trust you,” Sirius says, and there goes the last of his defenses. 

Remus wasn’t planning on it, but when the waiter comes around, he orders a bottle of wine along with the food.

“How are the others?” Remus asks when the wine arrives with a plate of papad and chutney. 

“They’re doing wonderfully! James and Lily got married, you know, and they have a son, now. Oh, and Peter only just moved in with the bird he’d been seeing—French girl, very nice and polite!”

Sirius still doesn’t remember that chewing and talking at the same time is terrible, and Remus can almost pretend they’re old school friends who ran into each other after falling out of touch. Remus can just about let himself believe there isn't something enormous waiting on the edges of every look and word they exchange. 

“Ah, did Mary finally come to her senses, then?” Remus asks, and Sirius laughs with him. 

“She did, about a year after we left school. I think Peter was relieved, to tell the truth. He always was utterly terrified around her. She’s in Ireland, now I think. Doing some legal work and generally being terrifying far away from Wormtail.”

“Poor Peter. I’m glad everyone’s doing well, though,” Remus says and he smiles at Sirius over his glass of wine. 

“Well! Oh, you should see Harry—that’s the baby, although don’t tell him I still call him that. Here—” Sirius tugs his wallet out and pulls out a picture of a small, dark haired blur on a toy broomstick. “He loves that thing—got it for him when he was far too young and Lily nearly had my hide!”

Remus laughs and runs his fingers along the edge of the photograph, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of any features.

“Well,” he finally says, handing the picture back to Sirius. “I can decidedly say he takes after Prongs. Can’t make head nor tail of him with how fast he’s moving.”

“Prongs thinks he’s already ready to try out for a team, of course. Meanwhile Lily is convinced he’s going to be a professor. We’re all too scared to tell her Prongs dropped him on his head when he was a year old and we’re all worried that dream is dead.”

Remus is still laughing when their meal arrives. 

“Anyway, how are you? What’s Professor Moony like? Oh—will you get into trouble for that class I interrupted?”

Sirius looks genuinely concerned and Remus grins around his roti. 

“It was a tutorial, and no, we were almost done. And I’m not a professor, just yet. Still have a few years to go and I need to finish writing my thesis, somehow.”

“What’s the thesis on?”

Sirius tops up both their glasses and Remus leans forward to clink their glasses together again.

“It’s, um, an exploration of the British Empire and the various wars of independence. There’s been a lot of work done on the topic, but not much research on stories that aren’t normally told, which I’m pretty happy to be doing a bit more work on.”

Sirius blinks at him, and Remus realises that he probably doesn’t have as much context on the muggle Queen and the legacies of colonialism as Remus does. 

“Er—it’s all very muggle,” he finally says, and hopes that answers Sirius’ unspoken question. 

“It sounds brilliant!”

“It’s difficult work. I have to wade through a lot of primary sources, and a lot of them are hard to access and even harder to parse.” Sirius’ eyes are fixed on his and Remus finds himself blushing. “I like it, though, and my supervisor hasn’t complained too much, yet.”

“Why would he! He gets to work with _the_ Remus Lupin! He should be falling over himself with gratitude, quite frankly.”

Remus nearly chokes on his food while laughing.

**

Remus collapsed in the library in his third year at UCL. He knew he wasn’t feeling well a week before it happened, running a temperature that was just a little too high even for him, but exams were around the corner and he had a thesis he had barely made a dent in, and the scraps of news that he was getting from Vesta, and the Prophet, and from McGonagall’s carefully worded missives were worrying enough that he simply decided to ignore it.

Vesta had sent him to bed the night before when she found him huddled in a corner of her study, poring over a book on magical traces and how to track them (and how to hide them). He had slept for a few hours and then left the house before she was awake, in the hopes that he could get a bit more research done before he had to start revising again. 

He had finished a whole hour of work—no one was ever in the Scandivian section before 8 AM—before he started to feel lightheaded and dropped his head between his knees in the hopes that it would stop. He must have fainted at that point, because the next thing he saw was someone trying to take his pulse and waving a hand in front of his eyes. 

“Are you ok?” 

“I’m fine,” Remus managed, trying to sit up again.

“You’re burning up. You should probably stop by the hospital.”

“Oh,” Remus said, and then when he realised there were quite a few people staring at him. “I’m sorry.”

“That time of the year, I suppose. I saw someone sleeping on the stairs the other day, presumably because they couldn’t wait till the library opened again.” the person still holding his wrist said. 

Remus ran through the sentence a few times before he finally managed to parse it, and then laughed. 

“Really their own fault for trying to close the library at all.” He disentangled his hand and sat up with a wince. “Thanks for checking on me. I should head home and rest. Sorry again.”

She waved him off, and he felt the eyes that had been focused on them shift away again. 

He stopped by Boots for some paracetamol on his way back to Vesta’s flat, and—when she looked up to see why he was back so early—he told her that someone had taken his favourite spot at the library. He didn’t think she believed him entirely, but she waved him off when he said he was just going to head upstairs and work from his room. 

When he woke up from his nap that afternoon, he found a sandwich and a potion by his bedside table with a short note. 

_Working yourself to the bone is one of the most ridiculous ways to die. Nothing you do is worth that. If I see you out of bed again before tomorrow, I’ll hex you._

_Potion is for your head. Sandwich is because I know you didn’t eat breakfast._

Neither of them mentioned it the next day.

**

He makes it home, hours later. After he pays for their food, waving Sirius off, after they engage clumsy hugs and Sirius threatens to visit tomorrow and the day after that, after Sirius ducks into an alley and Remus hears the tell-tale sound of apparition. He walks into his house, throws his keys on the kitchen table and sinks down onto the floor.

“Fuck.” And then, because his heart is still pounding too fast and he’s still too high-strung, too giddy from the evening, from the wine, from the fact that tomorrow suddenly holds something more precious than he thought it ever would again: “ _Fuck_.”

**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The night is chilly, and Remus finds himself walking into Sirius’ orbit more often than he has in the past few weeks, knocking elbows together in an effort to share warmth._

Remus isn’t sure what he’s expecting ( _he’s not sure he’s brave enough to expect anything_ ) after dinner with Sirius, but it definitely isn’t this. Sirius is waiting for him outside the college, the same way he has almost every evening since Sirius ended up outside of Remus' classroom. The sun is setting behind the wall that Sirius is leaning against, and Remus’ breath catches in his throat when he sees him. 

Sirius takes some of Remus’ books from him as they fall into step with each other while crossing the quad. 

“Good day?” Remus asks after they’ve walked past the gates and into the street, and Sirius beams at him like he’s been waiting for the question.

“Wasn’t bad at all! We had a full class today and went on a field trip to learn about magical herbs.”

“And you didn’t lose anyone or accidentally get anyone killed?”

“Not a one! I think this may be a personal record.”

“Didn’t accidentally entice a toddler into a life of hedonism and crime?”

“Of course I did, but we were all very subtle about it.”

“Was Molly impressed?” 

“Impressed?! I’m expecting a medal in the mail!”

“If she doesn’t send one over, I’ll have to buy you one myself.”

They duck into Remus’ building to drop off his work, and then—like they’ve been doing almost every evening since Sirius stood in front of Remus’ class like he was everything that was missing from his life—they have a brief argument about where exactly they should go for dinner. Yesterday, Sirius had gotten his way and they’d apparated to Manchester for Thai food that Sirius insisted was the best in the country ( _Remus had shrugged after they’d paid and pretended it wasn’t entirely to see Sirius sputter at him_ ). Remus has lessons to plan today, though, and insists on walking over to Luna Caprese with promises of a pasta that Sirius will love. 

The night is chilly, and Remus finds himself walking into Sirius’ orbit more often than he has in the past few weeks, knocking elbows together in an effort to share warmth ( _and because it’s so much easier than to not_ ). 

Remus has never seen Sirius like this: lit by the glow of streetlights in a city he doesn’t know, putting all his trust in someone else to lead him somewhere he’s never been before. Remus reaches out before he can think twice about it and tangles their fingers together (thinks _palm to palm in holy palmers’ kiss_ , alongside an unbidden memory of nights in the Gryffindor tower in seventh year, reading out passages from his favourite books while Sirius lay on his lap, almost asleep). Sirius squeezes his hand, attention half caught by students on their way to the union, and Remus feels the warmth spread from his fingers to his toes.

The restaurant is still empty when they get there, and Remus puts in their order as soon as they sit down. 

“Did that lecture you were worried about go okay, then?”

“It was a seminar,” Remus says, absently. “And I think it did. Not a lot of questions, but there never are when you’re talking about research methodology instead of actual events in history. Mostly they just stared at me and counted down the time until I let them go. Still, this is just for another two weeks and then Shabnam will be back and I’ll hopefully never have to give another methods class again!”

“Ah, well. That’s good then.” Sirius only looks a bit bemused at everything Remus just said, but even his bemusement is accompanied with a grin and Remus can’t help but grin back. They’ve spent the last few weeks talking around everything they once shared, and tonight probably won’t be any different. Remus isn’t sure if he’s entirely relieved about it, but he’s more than happy to cling to cowardice if it means Sirius keeps grinning at him like he can’t help himself. 

Remus takes a sip of his wine and watches Sirius wet his lips before doing the same. Remus knows he’s staring, but he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the movement of Sirius’ throat.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Remus finally asks, his voice hoarser than it was a few seconds ago. 

“Ah, Prongs has been badgering us for a five-a-side game of Quidditch for weeks now, so that’ll probably take up the entirety of my Saturday. I’m not sure about Sunday yet. Do you have plans?”

“Nothing, really. I’ll probably need to get slightly further on my thesis, but I’ve been saying that for months now.”

“Want to do something?” Remus can hear the nervousness in Sirius’ voice. Making plans this far in advance isn’t something they’ve done yet and Remus feels his heartbeat quicken at the thought. 

“I could be persuaded.”

“We could go to Regent’s Park and then maybe swing by dinner somewhere nearby? I don’t know if you’ve been before, but there’s a lovely walk by the canal that’ll be perfect this time of year.”

Remus isn’t thinking about anything beyond Sirius’ eyes and his lips, and the way he’s smiling at him.

“I love that section of the canal. It was right by my flat in college.”

“What?”

“I lived over by Primrose Hill for my undergraduate program. McGonagall’s sister let me stay with her the entire time.” 

“Oh. Pete and I were in Kentish Town till last year.” Sirius looks paler than he had a few seconds ago, and Remus frantically runs over everything he just said to try to figure out what did that. “We must have been neighbours for at least a few years.”

“Oh. I suppose we were.” 

Sirius takes a long sip of his wine and flags down the waiter for another glass. Remus, meanwhile, takes a bite of his pasta and tries very hard not to panic. 

“I’d love that,” Remus finally says. “Er. The walk down the canal and dinner near Regent’s Park, I mean.”

Sirius smiles but his eyes remain haunted by the things they’re still not saying. “Great, I can come by your flat and we can head down together.”

“I’d love that,” Remus says again, and hopes it’s enough.

**

Remus spent his first few months at UCL trying to get lost in the streets between Vesta’s house and Gower Street. Everyone else in his year joined clubs and societies and hung around the union the minute term started, but he was still too scared of his lycanthropy, of the scars that he’d have to explain, of the fact that everyone else around him spoke in a different language for all that they used the same vocabulary as him. 

Remus instead found himself in shops that were trying to remain as unobtrusive as him; bookshops and cafes and corner shops with shelves that held secrets he couldn’t begin to understand ( _and ones that helped him understand himself better_ ). He quickly found himself at home in the bookshops especially, where the patrons first regarded him with suspicion, and then with kinship, and where—after a few months—he started receiving invites to pubs and dives and then to Bang and The Rainbow Disco when the camaraderie in some of their eyes turned into something sharper.

Somewhere along the way, his home spread out from the walls of those shops and pubs and spilled over onto the streets outside, to the paths that he had memorised and that were as familiar to him at 2 AM as the corridors between the Gryffindor tower and the kitchen and the library. 

The mental boundaries he drew stopped shy of university, of his lecture halls and the pubs that his classmates found the most comfort in until right after their second reading week when he ran into three of them in Brixton.

“Oi, aren’t you in my Making History lecture?” one of them had shouted into his ear, which made grinding against his new best friend (whose name Remus still hadn’t caught) just a bit more awkward. His new best friend had lifted his head from where it was buried in Remus’s throat and raised an eyebrow at him. Remus had laughed it off, but there was really no recovering the moment from that.

He’d let himself be dragged back to the bar, instead, and pulled into a conversation about next week’s assignments and the essays that they were all falling behind on. Somehow, it was the least surreal thing that had happened to him since he started uni.

He ended up leaving with them that night and drifting towards a chip shop that they all seemed to like well enough. Ugo and Chris lived in halls close to uni and Davey was further up in Camden and it felt natural for Remus to get on the night bus when they did, and wave goodbye to them when their stops came. 

The next day, Davey and Ugo sat next to him in their Enlightenment lecture and Remus found himself invited to eat lunch with them. 

Two years later, Davey drove Remus and his boxes up to Oxford and, when Davey finally left again for London that evening, Remus had to struggle to remember how he had ever survived the loneliness.

**

They’re done with dinner and wandering in the direction of Remus’ flat when Remus hears his name being called, and he almost feels the walls that he and Sirius had built in the last few weeks—careful and fragile ones forged out of silences and an unspoken agreement to forget the outside world for just one more evening—shatter. 

“Lupin, if you keep walking, I will pummel you,” Hadleigh shouts, and then suddenly he’s there in front of them, with Evans and Smythe still trying to catch their breaths behind him. 

“We haven’t seen you in a week, old boy, and I was starting to think you died in that horrible flea-infested flat of yours,” Hadleigh says, his eyes never leaving Sirius’. “I now see you were just otherwise occupied.”

“Thanks for that, Hadleigh,” Remus says, and then because there’s no avoiding it now: “This is Sirius Black, an old friend of mine from school. Sirius, Percy Hadleigh, John Evans, and Graham Smythe.”

“Pleasure, Black,” Hadleigh says, and Remus rolls his eyes when he sees the force behind both their handshakes. 

“We were just headed back from dinner, and Sirius has an early day tom—” Remus says and isn’t at all surprised when Hadleigh waves him away before he can make their excuses. 

“It’s trivia night at our local,” Smythe explains to Sirius, instead. “And we need Lupin for literature and modern history. Evans has TV shows covered and I make do alright with music. Hadleigh’s utterly useless, of course. How are you at trivia?”

Sirius shrugs before Remus can say anything else. “I have no idea, but I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Two hours and four pints apiece later, Remus is pretty sure he’s the only thing keeping Sirius from slumping into Hadleigh’s shoulder, and that Hadleigh meanwhile is only being held up by the chair that Evans propped him against when he disappeared a pint ago.

They’re arguing, Remus is pretty sure, about what should be played on Top of the Pops next week, but he’s lost track and is mostly just thinking about bed. 

“Sirius,” he says, finally, when it doesn’t look like an end is in sight. “Sirius, I need to go home.”

Sirius looks at him (or in his general direction anyway, Remus thinks uncharitably) and waves his hand at Hadleigh.

“Well, Perce. Duty calls. We’ll see you next week, then?”

Remus isn’t really sure when that was discussed or decided, but he’s not really in the mood to fight it right now.

Sirius laces his fingers through Remus’ while they’re stumbling to the door, and Remus isn’t sure if the lurch in his stomach is the beer making itself known, or something else. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, when they’re outside. “I think I’m too drunk to apparate.”

Remus squeezes their fingers together and starts pulling him in the direction of his flat.

“Good thing my bed is big enough for two, eh Pads?”

**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s taken several nights of lying next to Sirius, both of them wrapped in a laughable illusion of chasteness, but Remus can finally admit he’s scared._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting! The next few chapters will hopefully be up a lot sooner.

It’s taken several nights of lying next to Sirius, both of them wrapped in a laughable illusion of chasteness, but Remus can finally admit he’s scared. Scared of a future he’s been refusing to contemplate, scared of feelings he had thought he’d buried, scared of the conversations they are going to have any day now. 

Sirius shifts next to him again and Remus doesn’t leap out of bed and run out of his own flat, but it’s a near thing. Yesterday’s excuse had been the most outlandish yet (Sirius is apparently out of clean sheets) and that’s not entirely surprising, given they’re both running out of ways to rationalize Sirius spending the evening and then the night here when he can just apparate back to his flat in London. 

Remus kicks the covers off at dawn when it’s clear he’s not going to get any more sleep, and putters around the flat waiting for Sirius to stick his face up from under the covers and ask him if the kettle’s on yet. There’s mail to sort through, three student outlines that he still hasn’t looked at, and the constant spectre of his thesis hanging over him. Remus puts the list out of his mind as he makes his first cup of coffee and steals a bite of the cake Sirius had brought over for him two nights ago ( _“it’s nearly full moon, I know what you’re like”, _Sirius had said and Remus had to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from kissing him right then and there).__

__The sun’s just started to peek through the curtains on Remus’ kitchen window when he hears Sirius stir._ _

__“I’ve got your tea out here, Pads” Remus calls and then waits for the now-familiar shuffle to come towards him and the kitchen table he’s started thinking of as ‘ours’._ _

__Sirius stretches as he yawns and Remus has to bite his lip to stop an answering yawn from spilling out._ _

__“Thanks, Moony.” Sirius wraps his hands around his cup and sits down across from him, slowly blinking himself awake. And then: “Big day today.”_ _

__Remus hums noncommittally and tries not to bite his nails._ _

__“It’ll be good,” Sirius says, because he can still read Remus like a book. “You can help me cook if you’re that worried about me burning down my own flat.”_ _

__“I hope you like undercooked pasta and plain rice, then.”_ _

__“Or you could help clean the flat, I suppose. It’s in a bit of a state.”_ _

__Remus doesn’t ask how Sirius would even know what his flat looks like when he hasn’t actually been back in over a week because they’re still not talking about this and Remus has enough on his mind as it is._ _

__“I can do that.”_ _

__They sit in silence for a few more minutes, Sirius sipping his tea and Remus staring at the grain of the kitchen table._ _

__“Do the others know I’m coming?” he finally asks._ _

__“Yeah, I told James when I dropped Harry off yesterday and sent an owl to Peter before I came over. They’re really excited to see you.”_ _

__Remus doesn’t know if it’s a lie but it doesn’t sound like one, so he doesn’t say everything that’s in the back of his mind and on the tip of his tongue. The war is over, after all, and his friends are alive. The promise of change—if McGonagall’s letters are anything to go by—is in the air. He’s been assured there’s a place for him by Dumbledore, although Remus is old enough now ( _and has spent enough time in academia_ , he thinks sardonically) that he knows that that place probably comes with quite a few strings attached. _ _

__It’s easier to turn back to Sirius, instead. To focus on only what’s in front of them, on the sun making Sirius’ brown skin glow even more than it usually does._ _

__“What time do we need to head over to yours?” Remus asks._ _

__“Soon, I reckon. I have a whole menu planned, Moony! Three courses, and only one of them is going to be dessert! Do you know what you want to drink? We’ll need to go to the shops, is the thing, so we may as well pick whatever you want up. I’ve got absolutely nothing in the flat.”_ _

__“Well, I’m glad I can help carry stuff at the very least.”_ _

__Sirius laughs and Remus grins with him. And then, out of the blue:_ _

__“You _are_ excited about this, aren’t you, Moony? This is something you want to do?”_ _

__Remus blinks and focuses in on the hollow of Sirius’ throat instead of looking at the question in his eyes._ _

__“Of course it is. I can’t wait, Pads.”_ _

____

**

It was a week before the end of term when Remus was finally able to tell them that he was leaving. He had reasoned it all away: it was early enough that they could take a trip out to the Potter estate and they could still have the summer they were all looking forward to; they hadn’t found a flat yet to share in London even though they had been looking; it was late enough that he knew he had been admitted to UCL and had worked out the logistics of living amongst muggles with easy access to a locked room and a steady supply of the experimental wolfsbane potion Dumbledore had promised him. He had planned this, he told himself, and tried not to focus in any way on the conversation that he was dreading.

It came to a head in their dormitory, the day that McGonagall had given him his transcripts (neatly forged) and he had received confirmation of residence from Vesta. James and Sirius were lying on the floor, too warm to actually carry out the prank they’d planned for the day (a relatively minor affair of turning every first year’s hair blue so they wouldn’t forget the Marauders anytime soon), and Peter was sat on his bed bemoaning the fact that very soon they’d need to think about packing. 

Remus had walked into the room, taken in the various states of laziness in front of him, and realised he couldn’t put it off any longer. 

“I have some news,” he’d said, like that would do his announcement any justice at all. 

Sirius sat up then, and Remus had to walk over to his bed to stop himself from wrapping himself around Sirius and forgetting the task at hand. 

“McGonagall and I have been talking and she thinks that maybe I should be looking outside the wizarding world for jobs.”

James sat up too, then, and all three of them looked excited. 

“Oh, yeah, like what?” Peter asked. 

“Well,” Remus said and then stopped because he wasn’t sure he was doing this right at all. “Given the lack of prospects here, we discussed my going to university. McGonagall says that’s the first step to figuring out what I want to do and what I _can_ do.”

“That’s brilliant, Moony!” Sirius looked ecstatic, and it took everything in Remus to look away from his shining eyes and at a blank corner of the room. 

“I’m excited,” Remus said and then, because there was nothing for it. “But it’s not going to be that simple.”

“What’s not simple?” James had asked ( _and for years after Remus wonders if there was an edge to it and if James had figured it out before he'd said anything_ )

“I was offered a choice,” Remus said, and then faltered, trying to find a way to tell his friends that the choice he made didn’t involve them. “And I think I’ll have to say goodbye when we leave Hogwarts.”

“You think?” Peter asked, his voice skipping up an octave the way it always did when he was stressed out. Remus looked at him so he wouldn’t have to look at Sirius. 

“To go to muggle university, I’ll have to leave the wizarding world,” Remus said, after a long beat. “It’s my only option.” 

Remus tried not to flinch into the silence that stretched out in front of them all.

“Why?” Sirius’ voice was suddenly unrecognisable. 

“I—” Remus had to close his eyes to get through the next bit. “Because there’s nothing for me here. There’s no future that won’t end in disaster if I stay in a world that hates me even before they get to know me. The muggles are different—or so McGonagall says, anyway—and I’ll have more of a chance of being someone there.”

“So you’re leaving?”

And the least Remus could do here was meet Sirius’ eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Pads. Dumbledore and McGonagall have made it clear that that’s the best option I have.”

James sat up, and Remus thought he understood the frown on his face even if he didn’t know how to defend himself from it. 

“But you could still stay with us, you could still go to university or whatever and meet muggles and shit and live with us. I don’t understand why you have to _choose_ and why you need to leave us at all.”

“If we were living in any other time, that would have been fine, Prongs, but we’re heading into a fucking _war_ and you’re all the golden _fucking_ boys of the resistance. Do you think you can just swan about with a werewolf in your midst when _my kind_ are lining up in support of Voldemort even before he’s said what his goal is?”

There was a dead silence in the dormitory and Remus let out the breath he’d been holding the entire time. 

“You’ve all got your futures ahead of you right here,” he finally said, looking at Sirius for a beat, and then looking away. “And a dark creature can’t be a part of that. We all knew the time I had at Hogwarts was an anomaly. We all knew there would be an end to all of this.”

“Moony—”

“We can’t do anything about it now,” Remus said, and hoped the tone of his voice brooked no more arguments. “But we can enjoy the last few weeks we have together, can’t we?”

He went to bed alone that night and stared at the ceiling until dawn broke, pretending he didn’t hear everyone else in the dorm doing exactly the same thing.

**

It takes them an hour to get everything they need from Sainsbury’s and Remus is glad he decided to help out with the shop because not even magic could have helped Sirius get everything back to his flat.

It’s a bright and airy place when Remus finally has a chance to look around, and just far enough from the high street that it’s quiet even with the windows open. Remus keeps his coat on and moves around the main room as he waits for the smell of wet dog ( _when was the last time you cleaned, Padfoot?_ ) to dissipate. There are books lying around on the floor the way there always are when Sirius is around, and socks that Remus levitates into the bedroom in an effort to make the place look slightly more presentable. There are also photos everywhere, and Remus slows down his tidying to a glacial pace so he can drink in every single aspect of Sirius’ life that he’s missed over the past six years. 

There are things he’s expecting: James and Peter and Lily right after Hogwarts, smiling and waving at Remus. There are pictures of Harry where he can actually see his face, covered in food and dirt and often being carted around on Padfoot’s back. There’s a picture of what must be Sirius’ old flat, with both Pete and Sirius asleep and surrounded by half unpacked boxes. Sirius looks happy in all of them, and Remus reaches out to trace the corners of his smile. 

Then there are pictures that take his breath away entirely because he remembers just how little he knows about Sirius’ life now. Sirius stood with ten children, all of whom seem to be having the time of their lives even as Sirius is trying to direct their attention towards the camera in front of them. Sirius curled up on a sofa that Remus doesn’t recognise, waving lazily at the camera while he scratches his bare stomach. Sirius with one arm around Regulus’ shoulder, both of them looking grim but content in a way Remus hasn’t seen in years.

“That was just weeks before it all ended.” Remus startles and finds Sirius standing right next to him. “We knew we were close to the end and we weren’t really doing anything but waiting for orders. Regulus ended up here for a few months. Kipped on the couch and made sure I tripped on his shoes any time I got orders to move out.”

Remus reaches out again, but this time to touch Regulus’ face, so like Sirius’ and still so foreign to him. 

“I didn’t realise he joined our side.”

“He didn’t. Not at first.” Sirius abruptly walks back to the kitchen and Remus can’t help but follow. “Bellatrix got to him before I did when he left school and she dragged him in deep. But he had kept tabs on me after you left and I kept tabs on him in return.” 

Remus lets the counter behind him hold his weight. He’s pretty sure his legs can’t do it right now. 

“We got him out,” Sirius says, finally. “He had information that we needed and we were able to guarantee his safety when he brought it to me.”

“Is he safe now?” Remus asks and Sirius looks at him, his eyes shining. 

“Yes. He’s safe. We’re all safe.” Sirius clears his throat. “Here, can you help me stir the sauce? I need to check on the lasagna.”

By the time James, Lily, and Peter floo in, the lasagna is out of the oven and Remus is laying the table. He hears them before he sees them, and before he knows it, Lily’s arms are around his neck and Remus buries his nose in her hair and tries not to cry.

“Moony, god. I thought he was lying when he said he’d found you.” 

“What’d you mean you thought I was lying? When was the last time I lied to anybody?”

“You lied when you told me you’d help me handle my landlord last week.”

“Shut up, Wormtail, that doesn’t count.”

It takes them ten minutes—of hugs and slaps on the back and then more hugs—before they’re sat down for lunch and Sirius raises his glass in a toast. 

“To the Marauders,” he says, because some things don’t change even after six years of silence.

“God, Sirius, you absolute fucking wet sop.” 

Remus grins at Pete, who’s grinning back at him while James and Sirius try to throw food at each other and Lily rolls her eyes at all of them. 

It’s four hours later when they finally run out of wine and Sirius and Lily struggle out of their seats to get some more: Sirius because he’s paying and Lily because she wants to choose something while Sirius is paying. 

The door’s barely shut behind them when Peter, James, and Remus turn to one another.

“I know—” Remus starts.

“No, you don’t!” and Remus wasn’t expecting Peter to lead this argument, but he chalks it up to yet another thing he’s missed. “He was _miserable_ that first year, Moony, and we couldn’t do anything about it!”

“If Pete hadn’t been living with him the second year, he’d have probably kept it up too.” And then, because James can’t help himself. “Of course, it was probably less to do with you than the brooms you brought home, Wormy.”

“Go fuck yourself, Prongs,” Peter says with a grin, and Remus takes the moment they’ve given him to compose himself again.

“We’re glad you’re back, Moony,” James says, when Remus hasn’t said anything at all for a few minutes. “We really are. We missed you every day, you know. But the last time you left, it broke him and I don’t think we can watch that happen again.”

“I know I left him—”

“It wasn’t just him you left! God, Remus. You left all of us, and how! It was hell on all of us not knowing what was happening or where you were or if you were _even alive_ , but it was worst on him!”

“I’m sorry,” Remus says, finally, because he is and there’s very little else he can say. “I don’t know what we’re doing here but I didn’t _want_ to leave. I didn’t think I had any other choice.”

“We know.” James said. “But you do have choices now, don’t you, and you need to make sure they’re not going to end up hurting him again, especially when—”

“He’s also more than capable of taking care of himself, you know.” All three of them jump at Sirius’ voice. Lily walks over to them and sits down again, holding both bottles of wine to her chest like she’s contemplating whether or not they deserve any. Sirius shuts the door behind him and comes over to stand behind Remus’ chair. 

“Where have you been the last few nights, Padfoot?” Pete asks quietly. “Because I’ve tried to floo you to see if you wanted to get drinks after work and you never seem to be here.”

“I’m allowed to do what I want when I want!” Sirius snaps and now James is standing, too. 

“Not when you’re doing exactly what you always do, diving in head first with absolutely no thought!”

Remus closes his eyes and tries not to lean against Sirius’ hand where it rests on the back of his chair.

“Prongs, sit down.” Lily finally says. “All of you, this is ridiculous. Remus, my love, have another glass.” She pours it for him and nudges the glass closer to him. “James, _sit down_.”

“Lily—”

“No. Remus left because he had no other choice. I’m glad he did. That was one less person I loved being run ragged by the war. And you’re both forgetting: when Remus left, we all still had each other. He had no one. I don’t—”

And Remus isn’t sure he can hear anymore just now. 

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, stumbling out of his seat and barely avoiding tripping in his haste to get his coat. “I have to go.”

He apparates directly into his kitchen and takes a breath, and then another breath, and then yet another until he feels strong enough to walk to the cupboards and pour himself a glass of whiskey.

He’s just taken his first sip when there’s a knock on the door. Remus takes a second sip to fortify himself, plasters a smile on his face and opens the door to Sirius. 

“Still no clean sheets, then?” Remus asks, his voice hoarser than it’s been all day.

“Nah,” Sirius says, smiling at Remus. “I just didn’t want to be somewhere you weren’t.”

“Fuck. Pads.” And then he’s got a finger curled through one of Sirius’ belt loops and pulls—hard—until Sirius stumbles forward and into him. Sirius’ mouth is hot against Remus’ and his hands are already twined in Remus’ hair. Remus thinks he remembers to kick the door shut before he drags them both towards bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sirius still kisses like he’s drowning._
> 
> Happy new year! Have some tender sex!

Sirius still kisses like he’s drowning, hands holding Remus tightly to him, mouth chasing his as he tries to break away to give them both a moment to breathe, to talk in case there’s anything left to be said. Sirius has him up against the bedroom door before Remus can ask if this is alright, if Sirius is alright, and then there’s a thigh between his legs putting just the right amount of pressure on his cock and Remus breathes a helpless moan into Sirius’ mouth. 

“Padfoot—” he tries, when Sirius pulls away from his lips, but then loses that thought in the feel of Sirius’ teeth against his earlobe. 

“Padfoot—” he says again, when Sirius jerks his hips forward, letting Remus grind into his thigh even harder. “Padfoot, we have all night.”

Sirius pulls back for a moment, and this time it’s Remus that moves forward to kiss him again, not ready to let Sirius’ lips too far away from his own. 

“I hope we have more than all night, Moony. I don’t—I can’t—”

Remus takes a moment to breathe this in and absently runs his hands down Sirius’ spine, to the small of his back. He leans forward and presses his forehead against Sirius’. 

“Yeah. Yes, Pads,” he says before kissing him again.

He walks Sirius backwards until his knees hit the bed and Sirius has to sit down. They stay like that for a moment, Remus leaning over him, Sirius’ hands around his neck, neither of them particularly keen on breaking this kiss. It’s Sirius that finally moves his hands, running them along Remus’ shoulders before working their way to his trousers so he can help him step out of them. Remus tries to help Sirius out of his shirt, plucking at the buttons in the hopes that they’ll come loose if he just thinks about it hard enough. 

He’s not really sure how they manage but they do, and Remus climbs out of his pants and onto the bed and over Sirius, pushing his hips down so their cocks slide together. Sirius has his neck thrown back and it’s less muscle memory than the fact that Remus has never forgotten anything about Sirius in all the time they’ve been apart. He takes them both in his hand, letting his thumb slide over Sirius’ slit before he starts stroking faster, head buried in Sirius’ throat. His breath stutters after a moment and his hands tighten around Remus in a warning and a promise, and Remus leans up to bite down hard on his neck. Sirius lets out a gasp that’s haunted Remus’ dreams for years and pulls Remus back up. There are tears in Sirius’ eyes when his hips stutter forward and he’s coming over both their chests.

“Remus—Remus, please,” and that’s all it takes for Remus. He presses his head into the side of Sirius’ neck and bites down again while Sirius wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him as close as he can. 

They lie there for ages, wrapped in each other rather than in themselves for the first time in weeks. It’s not until Remus hears Sirius sniffle slightly that he moves his head so he can look at him again. 

“Are you okay?”

Sirius laughs slightly and tries to rub the snot off his nose. “Yeah, yeah. Bet this is the sexiest fuck you’ve had in a while, eh Moony?”

“You’re an idiot, Pads.” Remus leans over and kisses him, first on the lips and then once on each eye before pressing a kiss to his nose. “Don’t move.”

He stands up, and then instead of heading to the bathroom immediately, leans back again and kisses Sirius, deeper this time, dragging his teeth against his lower lip like a vow. When he pulls back, Sirius’ eyes are shining with tears again and Remus is sure he’s looking no better. 

“Don’t move,” he says again, and walks over to the bathroom to get them a towel and a glass of water. 

Sirius is still lying in bed when he gets back. He’s put his arms behind his head now which just makes him look even more ridiculous, one sock still on his foot ( _and Remus really shouldn’t find that endearing_ ) and the bright red duvet tangled up between his legs. He hands over the towel to Sirius and then climbs back into bed next to him. 

“Alright?” he finally asks when Sirius has wiped off his chest and dropped the towel on the floor beside them. 

Sirius rolls over and slings a leg over Remus’. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He’s not sure when they fall asleep but they do, sometime between the kisses and whispered promises. Remus wakes up curled around Sirius, his hand numb from being slept on. He’s pretty sure he’s drooled all over Sirius’ shoulder, but he doesn’t think either of them can even begin to care. 

“Hey,” he whispers, poking Sirius in the stomach and waiting for even the slightest grunt of recognition. 

“Fuck off,” Sirius mumbles.

He pokes again, this time aiming for the bladder because no one ever said he was nice. He’s rewarded by Sirius hitting his hand and violently rolling over. The annoyance on his face fades away the second he sees the grin on Remus’, though, and Remus wonders how long he can get away with wake up calls like this one. 

“Hi,” he says again, grinning at Sirius. 

“Shut up.”

Remus laughs and laughs, and doesn’t stop until Sirius has rolled them both over so he’s on top of Remus, peppering kisses down his neck and chest.

**

Remus didn’t really sleep for two weeks after he received the letter about horcruxes. The letter had come in while he was washing up after his and Vesta’s standing Thursday dinner and Remus had taken it to the library to ask her if she knew what the word meant. She didn’t, and they sat down for an evening of preliminary research. An hour later, Remus was sat in the bathroom, head over the toilet, trying to heave up his dinner.

Vesta had written back to Dumbledore that night, a short letter letting him know they were working on it and asking him if he was sure; if this was, in fact, the direction the war was headed in. Remus, meanwhile, had sat down buried amongst his books trying to focus on the words on the page and not on the arrogance it took to _choose_ to irreparably damage your soul. 

Remus’ nightmares began the next night. 

Vesta helped him stay up after that, sending him on errands and to speak with colleagues and acquaintances of hers who might have been able to help. When he was in their flat, Remus spent most of his time trying to focus on the words on the pages in front of him and wishing he could reach out to his friends to check they were safe and still whole. Vesta usually woke him up when his shouting got loud enough that it reached her room.

They found the beginnings of the tracking spell they needed a week into their work, and a week later, Remus finally let Vesta bully him into taking a sleeping potion so he wouldn’t collapse in the middle of the next stage of research.

It took three months of work in the end—three months of Remus avoiding friends and barely keeping up with classes ( _and good thing it happened over the winter and not when exams began or he’d have had to repeat a year_ )--for them to develop a spell and potion that would allow someone to track the horcruxes. Vesta had written the letter in the end, inviting McGonagall over for tea and a quick catch up between sisters. She’d apparated into their study less than an hour later. 

“There are some caveats—” Vesta had said, and Remus had to bite his lip to keep from shouting about how it’s not a caveat if it costs someone their _life_.

“What are they?” 

“You need something to guide the tracker—a final ingredient, really.”

“You need someone to get a piece of his soul,” Remus had cut in, and scowled back at Vesta when she glared at him. “The only way we can think of to get one is to let Voldemort make another horcrux _which would mean someone sacrificing themself._ ”

“That won’t be necessary,” McGonagall had said, and both Vesta and Remus had been too shocked to keep glaring at each other. She’d smiled at them both then, and Remus felt the knot that had lived in his stomach for months now ease the tiniest bit. 

“Thank you, both,” she had said, instead of giving them anything else. “I think you may have given us exactly what we need to finally end this.”

They had dinner in silence after McGonagall left, and it wasn’t until he was washing the dishes while Vesta took care of the leftovers that Remus finally let himself cry.

**

Sirius has a lunch with Pete that he’s been told he can only miss under pain of death, and Remus takes this as a sign that he should spend the rest of the day in the library, catching up on his thesis ( _”No, studying still isn’t a punishment, Pads. I’m doing this because I want to.”_ ). The library is about as quiet as can be expected on the weekend and Remus takes vindictive pleasure in spreading his belongings out as much as he can in one of the empty reading rooms.

He’s flipping through journal articles and trying to find it in himself to actually start filling in the chapter outline he’s been putting off for weeks now when the door opens and Shabnam saunters in. 

“Haven’t seen you in here for a few weeks, Lupin,” she’s wearing a bright red scarf and holding two completely forbidden bottles of pop in her hand. Remus screws his face up into an exaggerated scowl and spreads his arms out over his books.

“I saw this room first, Akhtar, and I will fight you for it.”

Shabnam laughs and sits down opposite him. 

“Marcus said you finally got your notes in to him,” she says after passing him one of the bottles. “He seemed pretty happy with them, too!”

Remus rolls his eyes at her and moves his papers so she can set her things down on the table.

“I don’t think _Professor Knight_ has the word ‘happy’ in his vocabulary. Are you sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

“Positive. He said he’s still skeptical about your general thesis but that the argument you’re making in the latest chapter is beginning to sway him.”

“And he said all of this to you?”

“Oh, please. The last time he spoke to me, he asked me why an undergrad was hanging out by our office. No, I overheard him speaking with Felicity. She, by the way, doesn’t care about your thesis and kept asking him who you were.”

“Well, I’m glad some things remain utterly predictable, I suppose.”

Remus waits until Shabnam’s taken a long sip of her pop before he clears his throat and aims for nonchalance. He’s pretty sure he misses by a mile. 

“Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard to find.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I’ve not been around more. I ran into an old friend a while back and we’ve been catching up, mostly.”

Shabnam raises an eyebrow at him but her lips are pressed together like she’s biting back a grin.

“What on earth makes you think I care, Lupin?”

“My mistake, Akhtar,” Remus says. “I clearly mistook you for someone else for a minute.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Shabnam skimming essays she clearly doesn’t want to mark and Remus trying to find a journal article to hide his smile behind.

“You look happy, Lupin.” Shabnam says, suddenly. “And more importantly, you look slightly less like you’re about to faint from malnutrition. Tell your friend he’s doing a good job.”

Remus doesn’t even bother tamping down on the smile that spreads across his face.

“You can tell him yourself. I’ll bring him around the office next week.”

“Good god, let’s not get carried away, now.”

“Too late, Akhtar.”

Remus has to duck the pen she throws at him and then, because he really is quite fond of her, he gets up to retrieve it so she can go back to her marking.

They don’t bother getting up until the afternoon light has faded and the reading rooms are about to close.

**


End file.
